


Pain is so Close to Pleasure

by AnonAutobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Masochism, Medical Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAutobot/pseuds/AnonAutobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>REQ: IDW - Any/Perceptor, voyeurism, medical/self-repairing kink, possible gore and masochism<br/>http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=11965184#t11965184<br/>(reposting from the previous request thread)</p>
<p>A mech of author's choice and Perceptor (or another equally stoic and competent mech) are stranded after surviving a skirmish with some Decepticons. They're both wounded, Mech A more seriously than Perceptor, and on the run, presumably hunted down by more 'Cons. They find some place to hide and Perceptor, after stabilizing A the best he can, proceeds to self-repair his own damages. He might have to pull part of his plating apart in order to stop internal energon bleeding, or he has to perform some other kind of operation, and he has to do it while enduring most of the pain, since for some reason he can't shut all his pain receptors off.</p>
<p>Mech A (who is in too bad conditions to help, maybe he got his hands damaged too) watches him and finds himself being unexpectedly turned on by what he sees.</p>
<p>Bonus points if after being done with his own repairs, Perceptor starts working on Mech A's damages and the tactile stimulation is enough to have A overload or almost overload, in spite of his conditions (hence the masochism).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>its probably more g1 than idw though i’m afraid dear prompter, so i’ve labelled accordingly.  sorry.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pain is so Close to Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> REQ: IDW - Any/Perceptor, voyeurism, medical/self-repairing kink, possible gore and masochism  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=11965184#t11965184  
> (reposting from the previous request thread)
> 
> A mech of author's choice and Perceptor (or another equally stoic and competent mech) are stranded after surviving a skirmish with some Decepticons. They're both wounded, Mech A more seriously than Perceptor, and on the run, presumably hunted down by more 'Cons. They find some place to hide and Perceptor, after stabilizing A the best he can, proceeds to self-repair his own damages. He might have to pull part of his plating apart in order to stop internal energon bleeding, or he has to perform some other kind of operation, and he has to do it while enduring most of the pain, since for some reason he can't shut all his pain receptors off.
> 
> Mech A (who is in too bad conditions to help, maybe he got his hands damaged too) watches him and finds himself being unexpectedly turned on by what he sees.
> 
> Bonus points if after being done with his own repairs, Perceptor starts working on Mech A's damages and the tactile stimulation is enough to have A overload or almost overload, in spite of his conditions (hence the masochism).
> 
>  
> 
> its probably more g1 than idw though i’m afraid dear prompter, so i’ve labelled accordingly. sorry.

He wasn’t a qualified medic. He was competent (more than) but not qualified. The qualified medic was currently lying next to him, curled up to protect his hands. Perceptor stared for a moment, ignoring his own injuries. It had been a simple excursion, nothing that should have resulted in this. But then, to be fair, they hadn’t been expecting the Decepticons to attack them. Especially when Ratchet was visibly marked as a medic. Evidently the Decepticons were no longer honoring the agreement that medics were to be left alone.  
“Ratchet, let me look.” Ratchet uncurled enough to look at Perceptor, pain clouding his optics.  
“You’re injured.” He rasped, reaching for Perceptor. But as soon as he saw his hands, he curled up again. It was painful enough knowing that they were mangled, thanks to a mistimed cluster bomb, but to see it was a totally different story.  
“Ratchet…” Perceptor started again.  
“Leave m’alone.” Ratchet mumbled. Perceptor vented a frustrated sigh. He didn’t have the skills to cope with an emotionally distraught and injured medic. He needed to find help, and find help fast. And that meant repairing himself. Their communication lines were being blocked, so the only way was for him to actually physically find another Autobot for help. Or get away from whatever it was blocking their communications.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A quick scan of his own systems revealed dents, scrapes and numerous torn lines, including one coolant line that needed immediate repairs unless he wanted to overheat.  
“Ratchet?” He nudged the medic, getting nothing in response. He knew the medic was still functioning, but he wasn’t sure how badly he was injured aside from his hands. And medics’ hands were far more sensor-laden than other mechs (save perhaps certain classes of architects), so Perceptor knew that Ratchet must be in a great deal of pain. Pain, which he was sure, if he could get the medic to respond, he had sensor blocks for. But Perceptor knew how severe pain could cloud the processor. Whenever his scope was damaged (which thankfully wasn’t often), he had to be put into stasis for even minor repairs to it as it flooded his sensor net with pain signals that were hard to disperse. Another frustrated sigh came from Perceptor as he realised that he would have to conduct his own repairs without the benefit of a sensor block. That was… not going to be pleasant. Field medical kits carried only a small dose, and Perceptor, having subspaced his own kit, was aghast to realise that he hadn’t replenished his kit after its last use. He cast a glance at Ratchet, knowing full well if the medic was conscious enough to realise, that he would be more than a little annoyed at that fact. He’d drilled it into all the Autobots under his care that their emergency medical kits would likely keep them functioning until he arrived. If it were fully stocked.

Settling himself as comfortably as he could against the jagged metal walls of their temporary hideout, Perceptor set about shifting his plating so he could seal the lines that were damaged. As he worked, he realised that some of the damaged lines were deeper in his systems than he could get by simply shifting plating. But even just shifting plating was painful, pushing the plates apart so he could reach in to crimp the lines. He’d been working for a while before he realised that Ratchet had uncurled a little and was watching him work, optics surprisingly focussed. He glanced up, gave Ratchet a small tight smile and continued his work, prising up plating on his side in order to get to a damaged line.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A small part of Ratchet knew that he was acting like a spoiled sparkling who hadn’t gotten his way. But that part was constantly being deluged with pain warnings, and he was finding it difficult to focus on anything but the pain flooding his systems. Not only his hands, but the myriad of dents, dings, scratched and torn lines. He was grateful that Perceptor was leaving him mostly alone; it meant that he could focus on dismissing the warnings he was getting, and writing coding so he could cope until help arrived. If help was going to arrive.

After a short while, he uncurled a little, optics focussed on Perceptor. The microscope was fixing his own injuries, moving injured plating out of the way so he could reach damaged lines. Watching Perceptor work was oddly soothing; the microscope working with his normal studious diligence. It only occurred to him as Perceptor noticed him watching, that he was in pain. That tight smile, the ripple across his fields all spoke of a mech in pain. And belatedly, Ratchet realised he should be doing something. But there was something… almost arousing in watching Perceptor work through the pain, acting as though it didn’t hurt, when Ratchet knew it should and would. Perceptor just carried on, bending the plating on his side up so he could access a torn energon line. He’d always been a mech Ratchet had admired; both for his dedication to his work, and the attractiveness of his frame. And to see him work in such close quarters, with the same dedication he allowed for his science projects on his own injuries… well, Ratchet shifted uncomfortable, charge prickling across his system despite the pain.  
“Ratchet?” Perceptor looked up, registering Ratchet’s shift.  
“’m fine.” Ratchet murmured, overbright optics scanning Perceptor’s frame. He shouldn’t be getting aroused by watching an injured mech repair himself without a sensor block. But he was. And that was just a little disturbing.  
“I shall attend to you momentarily, I just have to finish this…” He broke off with a gasp as he managed to snap a bit of plating that he had been trying to bend clean off. “Oh my.” He stared at the small bit of red plating in his hand as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Ratchet failed to stifle a groan as he watched. That Perceptor had just torn a bit of plating off (accidentally) without much more than a gasp and a twitch made the charge prickle uncomfortably. The strong silent type had always attracted him, and he had never realised quite how strong Perceptor was. Though, once he was let loose on a topic he favored, he was hardly silent.

“There.” Perceptor pushed against his plating, trying to get it to lie flatter. He’d sealed off all the damaged lines, repairing what he could with his field kit. He shifted closer to Ratchet, placing one hand on the medic’s arm. Ratchet let out a moan.  
“Ratchet?” Perceptor was immediately concerned he’d done something to further injure the medic. He didn’t have the sort of specialised scanners medics had to determine the full extent of Ratchet’s injuries.  
“It’s nothing, Perceptor.” Ratchet managed, gasping as Perceptor’s fingers trailed down his arm, trying to determine what injuries he had. Even just that simple contact was enough to set his sensor net ablaze, almost sending him into a tactile overload. Perceptor paused, the static from Ratchet’s systems tingling against his fingers.  
“Ratchet?” Ratchet squirmed a little uncomfortably, and didn’t say anything. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Sorry, I got turned on watching you repair yourself’? ‘You looked hot with your hands under your plating’? How could he explain himself?  
“Perceptor…” Even his voice told of his arousal, and he cringed a little, pulling away from Perceptor.  
“Ratchet.” His name, repeated a little more firmly this time, had him looking up at Perceptor. “There is nothing to be ashamed about. It is not an abnormal reaction.”  
“But it’s not exactly a reaction I should be having…” He tried to protest. Perceptor reached for him again, fingers trailing down his arms to his hands, and Ratchet shivered.  
“But it is a reaction all the same. And given everything that has happened in the last few hours, I am grateful you still have those sorts of reactions.” Perceptor inclined his head, optics focussed on Ratchet’s hands.  
“I suppose…” Ratchet knew that was true; with the injuries they’d both (him particularly) sustained, it was good that he was having these sorts of reactions. It meant his sensor net was still fully online and would need little in the way of repairs. (Of course, the pain had already told him that, but given the choice of pain or pleasure, he knew which he would choose).  
“And once we’re back at base, we’re having a talk about this.” Perceptor let a small smile play across his lips. Ratchet squeaked out his name, but didn’t look too upset at the prospect of that talk. Perhaps something good could come from their ambush after all.


End file.
